


Home

by nephiliminality



Series: Home Fires [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Discorporated Aziraphale (Good Omens), Discorporation (Good Omens), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Established Relationship, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Not Beta Read, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Canon, They seemed to want to so I let them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24545986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nephiliminality/pseuds/nephiliminality
Summary: Heaven and Hell did indeed leave them alone - but then Aziraphale got discorporated. Now he's stuck in Heaven with no body and no Crowley and everyone's behaving very strangely. How is he going to get home? And where is home, exactly?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Home Fires [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822333
Comments: 26
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Discorporation by car accident. Psychological abuse.

Aziraphale's discorporation had been a stupid one. He'd been walking back to the cottage after a pleasant day in town, a shopping bag full of wine and cheese in one hand and a freshly-signed copy of an acquaintance's latest book in the other. He was humming to himself. One of the many drivers who liked to speed through the area had sneezed at the wheel, mounted the pavement and hit him from behind. No time for evasive action. No time for miracles. Just a pointless, sudden, human death.

Crowley had felt it happen, felt the light go out so close to home. He'd practically screamed, shot out of the cottage and sprinted down the road to the scene, knowing it was too late but hoping against hope anyway. One look at the body had crushed that. Aziraphale wasn't in it any more, and even if he had been, this was beyond the ability of either of them to heal. Crowley stared at it for a long time.

* * *

Crowley brought the body back to the cottage - he couldn’t think of anything else to do. It didn’t seem fixable, but maybe he could try anyway, or at least keep it safe until the angel got back. They’d have to patch it up somehow. Heaven probably wasn’t going to be inclined to provide a new one.

He’d cleaned it up as best he could, and repaired the clothes. He left a few marks on the coat so Aziraphale could ask him to fix them later, with that ridiculous expression, and he could fondly acquiesce. He felt like he should be raging, but he wasn’t - just oddly calm and distant, like this was happening to someone else and he was just a spectator.

A quick miracle had left the dazed driver convinced that he’d actually hit a deer, which should hopefully keep the police out of things. That was important. Crowley was dimly aware that Aziraphale, having certain standards to maintain after all, did actually have a human persona that he used to deal with the perplexed tax collectors and other such officials. Crowley had never bothered with such things (feeling he had more than enough paperwork to do already) and he had no idea what horrendous chain of unstoppable bureaucracy might be unleashed if those authorities got the idea that Aziraphale was deceased.

The bookshop and the cottage both had to be untouched and waiting for him when he got back. Which was definitely a when. Definitely. Probably very soon. Don’t think of anything else.

* * *

Aziraphale came to groggily, wondering what had just happened and feeling annoyed with himself for not seeing it coming, whatever it was. He kept his eyes closed against the light: clearly his corporation had been damaged somehow if it was perceiving the gentle evening sunlight as this bright. Hopefully he or Crowley could sort it out later. He hoped it wouldn't involve a lengthy sleep, it was such a dreadful waste of reading time.

He rolled over onto his hands and knees, which strangely didn't hurt, and even more strangely didn't make the light any dimmer. He braced himself and forced his eyes open.

They felt odd. His eyelids weren't fighting back, the way bodies did when they felt they were being given a bad order that might cause them damage. They weren't really doing anything at all, actually - one instant he couldn't see and then he’d decided to see and the next instant he could. It took him a moment longer to realise that this was because he no longer had eyes, not in the physical sense. He looked down at his hands, confusion giving way to horror - they were translucent. And he was no longer on Earth.

A noise nearby startled him and made him shoot sideways away from it, rolling over again into a sitting position and looking up in shock. It was Uriel, standing above him looking serene. He froze, staring up at the angel he’d last seen cheerfully dragging him (or so they thought) off to his intended execution. They just smiled at him kindly, and said "Welcome home Aziraphale."


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale hauled himself to his feet, trying not to think about the lack of actual feet. Finding himself back in Heaven was bad enough without adding the loss of his body to the mix. Six millennia without a discorporation and now he’d managed it twice in a few short years. He felt such a fool.

"What do you want?" He snapped. "Why am I back here? You agreed to leave me alone."

"You’re back here because you were discorporated." Uriel said, sympathetically. "It was not our doing. We are glad to see you back though. You’ve been away from home too much, for too long."

"Glad to see me? The last time I saw you you tried to kill me."

Uriel looked pained. "The trial. You were never given an explanation?"

"I was called a traitor. For stopping the war."

Crowley had of course filled him in on all the details. Aziraphale still didn’t understand why wanting to keep everyone alive could be considered treason - there would be rather a lot of dead angels if he hadn’t taken action, whether they won or not. And he was not nearly as confident of a Heavenly victory as he once felt he should be.

"That’s not what I meant. We had to test your loyalty. There was evidence you’d been compromised. A lot of meetings with a demon, not mentioned in your reports, no obvious explanation. Your efforts to undermine the Great Plan. All quite suspicious." Uriel shrugged. "The trial wasn’t real. You were never in any actual danger." They smiled." And you did pass."

"I know Hellfire when I see it." Aziraphale said firmly.

Uriel looked just a little bit exasperated. "Aziraphale. What do you think is more likely, that you are the only angel in Creation immune to Hellfire, or that it wasn’t Hellfire?"

Aziraphale couldn’t really respond to that without giving the game away. He changed tack.

"If it was a test, why didn’t you tell me afterwards? Why did you let me leave thinking you wanted me destroyed?"

"We had to consider your reactions first. Make our assessment. You were more... adversarial at the trial than we had expected. It made sense to let you leave and inform you of the outcome later." They sighed. "But it seems no-one did. Please accept our apologies for the oversight. There has been a lot to do since the world didn’t end."

Aziraphale was unconvinced, but he supposed it didn’t really matter as long as he was left alone. "Are you intending to let me leave now?"

"We won’t stop you." Uriel said, brightly. "But we do hope you’ll stay – you are our expert on Earth after all. And it would be foolish to return there without a body."

Aziraphale had to acknowledge the truth of that.

* * *

Crowley had tidied and reorganised everything in the cottage three times and was now considering embarking on a fourth. For once he was grateful for the angel’s tendency to accumulate clutter - reorganising his own possessions barely took an hour no matter what system he devised. It had been several days and he’d heard nothing from Aziraphale; he was starting to panic and he had no idea what to do.

He’d hoped the angel would be back by now, or would at least have sent word somehow. Crowley had always assumed that discorporated angels washed up in Heaven, since discorporated demons were always dumped unceremoniously back into Hell (usually near an audience of mildly amused hecklers and a pile of triplicate forms). He couldn’t be certain though, since Aziraphale had somehow managed to go six millennia without experiencing the process. It was possible he was still on Earth. He had come straight to Crowley last time though, and he hadn’t done that this time.

If he had ended up in Heaven, they both had to hope that Heaven would honour their promise to leave him alone and let him head back. The longer the silence lasted, the less likely that looked.

Crowley hated feeling like this, bereft and helpless. He could handle anything if he could convince himself he had it under control, if he had a plan. He could handle a lot of things even without one – style and confidence could get you a long way, whether real or affected, and he’d had a lot of practice. But just having to sit and wait? He’d never been any good at that. He needed something to *do*. But what could he do? He couldn’t exactly stroll up to the gates of Heaven and ask for his angel back. Even he couldn’t pull that off.

* * *

Once Uriel left him to his own devices, Aziraphale assessed his options – he concluded that they weren’t good. Heaven’s baffling change of heart probably didn’t extend to a willingness to give him a new body and still leave him alone afterwards. Adam probably couldn’t help any more either, he had renounced too much power. It would be awfully rude to ask anyway, the unexpectedly good-natured Antichrist had already done it once and that was generous enough.

At least he was still in the quasi-material halfway house where angels on Earth duty got used to their corporations before descending or hung around incarnate on short trips back. He felt sure that if he allowed himself to be led into the ineffable formless infinity of Heaven proper, he'd never see Earth or Crowley again. Aziraphale hadn’t been back There since the Beginning and he had no desire to do so now. That was one of a lot of things he felt guilty about.

This not-quite-Heaven always appeared to Aziraphale as a stark, bright and painfully modern building, for whatever standards of modern applied at the time, and it had done so more or less since the humans had invented them. He usually found himself wishing it could at least look a little warmer and more comfortable. There was no reason why it couldn’t, after all. It could look like anything. It didn’t have to remind him every time he came back here of how un-angelic he was, how overly-attached to human comforts, how unprofessional; how there must be something wrong with him because he clearly didn’t fit in.

The more he thought about it, the more strongly he felt that there was no point staying here hoping to winkle a new corporation out of Heaven. Even Earth with no body was better than no Earth, no Crowley. The demon must be wondering where he was. Perhaps between the two of them they could come up with a solution. They always had before, after all.

He headed for the entrance area, still appearing to him as a foyer with lifts (he did occasionally wonder how it appeared to the angels who weren’t permanently stationed on Earth). Then he stopped sharply: Sandalphon was standing there, casually, as if between Aziraphale and the exit by pure coincidence. The other angel gave him a friendly smile, not quite believably. Aziraphale smiled back nervously and wandered off again, trying to look nonchalant.

Won’t stop you leaving. Right. But Gabriel's enforcer was blocking the way out. Somehow he suspected if he tried, he'd be 'persuaded' that he didn't really want to leave.

* * *

"I’m sorry dear, I’m retired. No, I haven’t experienced anything like that recently. Yes, I would know, possession’s hard to miss. You sound awfully familiar, have we met? Oh! You’re the strange man with the car! I wish I could remember more of that day, it was very odd. Oh. Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. You tell him that I’m happy to help but he has to ask first. And I won’t help him hurt anyone. Yes I’ll let you know if I hear anything. Good luck dear."

Crowley put the phone down and tried the next name on a very short list.

"I don’t do séances, I’m an occultist not a medium. No, I haven’t been visited by any ethereal beings. Why do you ask? Oh, it’s you. What did you do to my memory? It’s all kinda fuzzy for that day. Not you, right. If you say so. Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Well, I can’t help but I can give you some other names to try. Yes, I’ll let you know if I hear anything. Sorry for your loss. Good luck."

Crowley put the phone down again and put his head in his hands. Those two were the only ones he actually thought plausible, and they’d heard nothing. Still, there were other names, including the ones book girl had provided, and he had to try.

* * *

Backing away from Gabriel’s red right hand, rather unfortunately, made Aziraphale almost walk straight into Gabriel himself. Like everyone else, he seemed to want to smile a lot.

"Aziraphale! How are you doing? I’d heard you were back. Encounter with a horseless carriage, or something? They are rather dangerous aren’t they? I’m sure there’s really no need for anyone to go that fast."

Aziraphale stuttered. He was stuck between Gabriel and Sandalphon, again. They seemed to do that quite often. Unintentionally, no doubt.

"Gabriel, hello. Um, yes. So I gather. H-How are things in Heaven?"

"They’re good, yes, lots of good things happening. I really should thank you for your intervention in the Plan, it has opened up so many avenues of exploration."

Aziraphale tried not to look too confused.

"Er. Glad to be of service."

"We were really quite worried about you, you know. All that contact with the other side and all." Gabriel’s grin widened. "And all along you were trying to turn their agent. You really should have reported on that!

"Um. What?"

"The demon Crowley? No longer associated with Hell, I hear. I should never have doubted you. Excellent job." He gave him a double thumbs-up.

Aziraphale smiled back nervously. What in Heaven’s name were they up to?

"Thank you. Um. Well. In that case, I should get on with the, uh, paperwork. For a new body. Really should be getting back to duty and all that."

Maybe it actually was worth a try. It was a shame he was so bad at this, he thought. Crowley would have no trouble.

"Why? You don’t need to monitor Crowley any more and Hell hasn’t yet sent up another agent. You should stay here. You’ve been on Earth for so long, it must have been terrible for you. Stay a while. You’ve earned it."

"No I really would prefer to, ah, get back to it. There could be thwarting to do at any time, after all."

Gabriel frowned at him.

"Aziraphale, are you alright? Why so eager to leave?"

"Eager?" he stammered. "I’m not eager, of course not, why would I be eager to leave Heaven? But- but there’s a job to do, and it’s my job, and I should get on with it. And if Crowley is a free agent now, well, he, he could be up to anything. I’d best keep an eye on him. I know his wiles better than anyone else, after all."

He mentally kicked himself. Why had he brought Crowley up again? Grinning like an idiot as well. That was bound to raise suspicion. Why could he never close his stupid mouth?

"Your work ethic is commendable, but I really do think you need some time away from Earth. Stay in Heaven a while." Gabriel looked at him intently and Aziraphale thought he could almost hear an edge develop in his voice. "I insist."

* * *

Well that was that. Crowley had tried contacting every witch he could get hold of, all over the world, from the definite psychics to the probable charlatans. None of them had heard anything from an angel. That probably meant he wasn’t on Earth at all, which meant he must be in Heaven. Who wanted him dead.

They could even have followed through on that already, Crowley wouldn’t be able to tell from here. The thought nearly made his brain stop working. Heaven thought Aziraphale was immune to Hellfire, but there were other ways to destroy an angel. Plenty had been lost in the War after all – something else Crowley’s mind refused to think about - and there hadn’t been any Hellfire then. There hadn’t been any Hell. That particular nasty surprise had come after.

Crowley’s own recent experience of Heaven’s ‘justice’ had left him with a suspicion that Aziraphale might not be the first un-Fallen angel they had felt the need to dispose of. The memory made his skin crawl and his fists itch. No regrets there, not any more. Centuries of curious and sometimes horrified observation of humanity had shown him over and over again that any side could go bad, and sometimes they went very bad indeed.

He tried to push that whole line of thought out of his mind, it wasn’t helpful and he couldn’t bear it. No, Aziraphale would be perfectly fine and trying to figure out how to get back, and he’d think of something. Brilliant, ridiculous bastard that he was.


	3. Chapter 3

Once Gabriel had left, unfortunately without taking Sandalphon with him, Aziraphale had set about doing the paperwork. If Heaven was going to insist that he was still in good standing after all – and if he was honest with himself, he desperately wanted that to be true - he felt he should see how far that went. He could tolerate being made to stay in Heaven for a bit if it got him a new corporation to go back with, and he would figure out how to get word to Crowley somehow.

He hadn’t got very far through the pile though, when the Archangel returned, looking rather serious.

"Aziraphale, do we need to talk? About Crowley?"

Aziraphale experienced the bizarre sensation of having one’s heart soar and stomach plummet simultaneously. Funny that he could still feel those things when he currently had neither. He fought to keep a straight face.

"What- what about Crowley?"

"Was there some quid pro quo going on, mutual back-scratching of some kind? Please be honest, we’re trying to help. While you were trying to turn him, he may have been trying to turn you."

"I-I don’t know what you’re implying."

"We’ve been having a look back through your miracle records. Some of these don’t look especially relevant to your assignments at the time, or to your…" - Gabriel looked mildly disgusted - "personal habits. And they were rather close to where Crowley was supposed to be. What were they for?"

"I don’t remember every miracle I did, you’ll have to be more specific."

Gabriel laid a few pages on top of Aziraphale’s paperwork.

"Here you go. Take your time."

Aziraphale stared down at the pages, dredging the incidents out of his memory - some of them had been a very long time ago. They did all look rather incriminating, set out together like that. He tried to think fast, to come up with some plausible explanations, but nothing presented itself. The only option seemed to be half-truth.

"Um. They were, ah, for some of Crowley’s assignments. I helped with a few things that didn’t seem to do much harm, t-to gain his trust, you know? For the, um, turning. I let him do a few small things for me in exchange. I-I thought it would be okay, as long as it all balanced out."

"Thank you for telling me."

Gabriel’s face had already looked serious, but now it was grave - not in anger, but as if bracing himself to deliver bad news.

"Aziraphale, I have to tell you something. He didn't do those things. He may have told you he did, but he didn't."

Aziraphale tried to take that in. It had to be a lie. But it was Gabriel saying it, Heaven saying it. Old reflexes stirred - he should trust Heaven. But he trusted Crowley. He couldn’t reconcile those things.

"I don’t understand. I reported that I had done them. You never challenged it."

Gabriel shrugged awkwardly. "We didn't realise. Some of them happened by themselves anyway and others... didn't seem to be as significant as expected. It only became apparent when we started investigating your files."

Aziraphale bit his lack-of-lip. "Am I going to be punished?"

Gabriel shook his head. "No. This is my fault. I should never have left you on duty alone for so long, it was asking for trouble. I’m sorry." He gave what was probably intended to be a reassuring smile. "Don’t worry, we will get this sorted out. We will make sure you’re okay."

Gabriel gathered up the accusatory papers and strode off, leaving Aziraphale bewildered and hurt.

* * *

All Earthly lines of enquiry exhausted, Crowley had resorted to the bottle. Talisker, specifically. He should probably break that habit before it became his official Trauma Whisky. It didn’t deserve that fate.

He could remember when he first realised he was in love with Aziraphale: when he finally stopped trying to pretend otherwise and acknowledged it for what it was. That he wasn’t just fascinated or amused or oddly attracted, like the angel had his own gravity that only applied to Crowley, but serious oh-shit-I-need-him 'In Love', worthy of the capitals. He'd had to get very drunk afterwards.

It wasn't that he had any objection to it, as such. It was actually kind of nice to know he could feel like that, after so long immersed in Hell's resentment and hopelessness. He’d been happier in the angel’s company than he’d thought possible; he could make otherwise tedious and miserable years, decades, even centuries bearable just by existing. It was just that it made everything so complicated, not to mention dangerous. Affection between an angel and a demon might actually be considered worse by both sides than mere collusion. Sometimes love could make you want to die, and sometimes it could get you killed.

He’d poured the whole situation out to his plants, who’d been bemused but relieved at their temporary promotion from stress toy to counsellor. It was weird how it actually made him feel better. It wasn’t helping him find a solution though. If Aziraphale didn’t turn up soon, he was going to have to do something about it. And currently, he had no idea what that something could be.

* * *

Aziraphale focused on the paperwork. Neat, simple. Fill in a box. Fill in another. Things he knew. Things that were true. Things that didn't matter even if they weren't true. Things that didn't hurt to think about. Things that made *sense*.

Nothing he'd been told since he'd got here made sense. But it wasn't completely unbelievable either. There was a part of him that wanted it to be true, wanted to be living in a world where Heaven actually cared about him and were trying to help. Where Heaven really were the good guys and he was on the good side and doing the right thing and it wasn't complicated at all. But if that was true, then Crowley had lied to him, beguiled him. The thought of *that* was like a knife to the soul.

Fill in a box. Fill in another.

He finished in no time at all. The only thing left was approval from a senior angel. He felt uneasy about talking to Gabriel or Uriel again, and would never voluntarily go anywhere near Sandalphon, which left one option. He went to find Michael.

The Archangel was working on their own paperwork in an area that almost had privacy - only the most senior angels had anything close. They looked up as he approached, with a neutral expression. Aziraphale was surprised by how glad he was not to get smiled at. He handed over the papers.

"A new corporation?" Michael said. Aziraphale nodded hopefully. Michael soon dampened that. "What for?"

"Well, um, I need one. I can’t do my job without a body."

"You are still working for us then? I’m told you seemed very definite when you left."

"I was, ah. Under the impression that you wanted rid of me."

"I meant the time before. The quartermaster was most astonished. Never heard the like, apparently. You caused something of a stir." There was a trace of amusement in Michael’s voice.

"I-I…" Aziraphale deflated. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just… I had to get back. I’m supposed to protect them. Aren’t I? She couldn’t really want everyone to die?"

Michael looked at him intently, then softened, and - oh dear - there was the smile. "Take a seat. Tell me all about it."

* * *

Crowley sprawled on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, or possibly through it. He’d finished the bottle of whisky and couldn’t be bothered to get another. Visions of angels with hateful and disdainful eyes paraded through his head, grotesquely backlit by Hellfire. Aziraphale had better be alive and well. Crowley would go up there personally and burn them all if he wasn't, as many of them as he could get to before they took him down. They’d see what revenge looked like.

It had been a couple of weeks now, on Earth at least. Crowley had no idea how long it had been for Aziraphale – time didn’t work quite the same way in Heaven or Hell, sometimes they might go faster and sometimes slower. Maybe Aziraphale had only just arrived, from his perspective. Maybe he’d been stuck there for years. There was no way to tell.

He still hadn’t sent a message, and Crowley had no way of contacting him. He supposed he could get a human to try a prayer, but somehow he doubted they landed in some kind of divine pigeonhole to be picked up by the intended recipient. Any contact from a demon might put Aziraphale in danger. It was not worth the risk.

Crowley racked his whisky-addled brains for anything at all he could do to help. Trouble is, what could one demon do against all of Heaven? He wished Agnes had left a few more pearls of wisdom. He wondered if she had seen this coming as well. Maybe she had, and whatever she’d said about it had gone up in smoke with that bloody book. Probably not though, he thought. They might be on their own side now, but the humans weren’t going to save them every time. The humans didn’t even know they existed.

Suddenly an idea dropped into his brain, solid and plausible and yet utterly absurd. Of course! He did have something he could use against Heaven. Something the smug tossers would never think of. If he could play it right, it might even buy them longer-term security. He sobered up with a wince and got to work, reignited by purpose. He had preparation to do.

* * *

Aziraphale had been talking to Michael for quite a while. Michael had eventually signed the form - to reassure him that he wasn’t in trouble, they said, and because he would indeed need a body to go back to his job, though he had earned a lengthy break from Earth first and should definitely take it.

They had even opened up about their own interactions with Crowley’s late colleague. Aziraphale couldn’t help but find himself beginning to trust them, despite the memories his mind occasionally threw at him. They could all be explained away, if he tried hard enough.

"So he has been approaching you since the Garden? That is unusually persistent for a demon."

"Oh, we just ran into each other occasionally, for a long time. Both working on Earth after all, it was bound to happen." Aziraphale was on his favourite subject and it was hard not to let it show.

"Wouldn’t one normally expect opposing agents to avoid each other, in such circumstances?" Michael sounded casually curious.

"I suppose so, yes. But there didn’t seem to be any harm in it."

"Hm, perhaps. And he generally approached you? Not the other way around?"

"Yes. To begin with, anyway. Later on it was more sort of... by mutual arrangement."

Michael looked thoughtful. "It was very clever of you to think of trying to turn him. You made good use of his pursuit."

Aziraphale smiled nervously.

"But I wish you'd told us you were doing it." they continued. "I could have advised you, made sure you were taking suitable precautions. The things my contact used to say, to try to tempt me away from Heaven. Talking to demons is dangerous."

"We didn’t talk about anything dangerous." Aziraphale lit up with reminiscence. "Just, food, wine, interesting things the humans were doing..."

"Ineffability?"

Aziraphale’s smile vanished and he fidgeted. "Sometimes."

"Did he ever encourage you to question the Almighty, question Heaven? Mine did."

Aziraphale looked back through his memories and found the joy tarnished with a growing sense of unease. He didn’t answer, but his expression probably said it all. Crowley had done that, hadn’t he? Rather a lot.

Michael still sounded kind and concerned. "Is that how your doubts about the Great Plan came about?"

"Um..."

"The ones that led you to prevent Armageddon?"

"Er…"

He felt ill. He tried to rub his hands together but it didn’t calm him down. He grasped at the bottom of his waistcoat but it was immaterial and of no use to him. He felt like he was standing on the brink of an abyss. The abyss.

"Don’t you see it?" Michael said urgently. "There’s only one prize he could be seeking, worth spending six thousand years on. He’s trying to take you away from Heaven. He’s trying to make you Fall."

* * *

Crowley was back in London, parked near the building that served as the local entrance to both Heaven and Hell. That they used the same one hadn’t seemed all that odd until after Armageddon.

His drive back to the city had almost been at the speed limit, partly since he’d been going over his plan in his head the whole time and partly because he was currently unusually nervous around pedestrians. That had better go away sharpish – Aziraphale would never let him live it down if he started driving responsibly now. He went over the plan one last time. It was a plan he wasn’t entirely convinced he’d survive, but it was the only one he could come up with. He took a deep breath, gave the Bentley a fond farewell pat, and headed inside.

He knew the way in. It was the way he’d taken out, wearing Aziraphale’s face. Heaven hadn’t even locked it, let alone guarded it. Thank Someone for hubris.

Stepping out into the entrance area, he looked around warily. There was an angel on guard here, but they were looking in not out. Interesting, that. He recognised the angel from the trial. He recognised them from Gomorrah. He suppressed a sudden urge for vengeance – that was not what he was here for and it would definitely get him killed.

He pulled just enough fire to his fingertips to have a ready threat available, but hopefully not enough to be noticeable, then cleared his throat loudly. Sandalphon actually jumped in alarm (which was very satisfying) then spun around, looking furious. The fury quickly dissolved into wariness when Crowley let a brief flicker of fire show - it was currently one-on-one and the demon had the advantage. The fact that Crowley was alone in Heaven and stood no chance of escape wouldn’t matter to Sandalphon if Sandalphon, personally, was dead.

Crowley raised his hands in a placating gesture, and said "You don’t hurt me and I won’t hurt you. I just want to talk. To your boss. About Aziraphale."

On cue, Gabriel appeared in the foyer – Crowley guessed his presence was known to half of Heaven already, and this had better work. He was counting on news of his apparent immunity to Holy Water having reached Heaven, making them loath to attack him on sight for fear of what he might be capable of. So far that seemed to be paying off - the Archangel glared at him, but kept his distance.

"You’ve got quite some nerve coming up here, serpent."

"That’s me, yes. Got quite a reputation for it. Where’s Aziraphale?"

"What’s it to you?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "He got discorporated. He’s not on Earth. He must be here. I want to see him. Where is he?"

"You’re in no position to make demands. You’ll only walk out of here if we let you."

"I believe you’re aware of my immunity?"

"That’s not going to protect you against all of Heaven, snake."

"Maybe, maybe not. But you think I came up *here* without insurance? I've got a dead man's switch."

Gabriel looked confused. "A what?"

Crowley snorted. "Oh come on, it's not even a new concept. You lot need to get out more. I've got things arranged so if I don't come back, some people are going to get messages telling them how I got up here."

"You think we're afraid of demons coming here?"

"Oh, not them. Humans." He started grinning. "And you know what else those messages will tell them? How to make Hellfire."

Gabriel looked stunned.

"You know what humans are like" Crowley continued, still grinning. "They love figuring out how to kill things. They'll probably come up with some really interesting ways to use it, stuff Hell would never think of. And some of them have serious beef with Heaven. Best of luck."

"What do you want?"

"Not a lot. You give Aziraphale a new body, you let us both leave, and then you leave us alone. If he gets discorporated again, you do it again. If you, or for that matter, Hell, ever come for us again, those messages will go out. Clear?"

Gabriel pulled himself together. "I'm sure we can deal with a few humans." he sneered.

"I'm sure you can." Crowley let his distaste show. "But you won't get them all. Humans like talking to other humans, especially if it's about something they're not supposed to know. And they’ve got this thing called the Internet now, lets them talk to each other all over the world. If the ones who started it mysteriously shut up, they'll talk about it more, not less. Once it's out you won't be able to stop it, not without killing all of them. You quite sure that fits with the Almighty’s plans, great or ineffable or whatever?"

Gabriel actually tried to stare him down. Crowley held his gaze over the top of his sunglasses, and waited. If the Archangel was stupid enough to try to out-stare a snake, Crowley was happy to oblige.

* * *

Aziraphale blurted it out before he could stop himself.

"He wouldn’t. He loves me."

Michael raised their eyebrows. "Loves you?"

Aziraphale nodded timidly. He shouldn’t have told them, he knew. But he had nothing else left to cling to any more. Since he’d arrived here he’d got more and more confused, felt more and more unsure of where the truth lay. He doubted his own memory, his own perceptions. He doubted his own reasoning. He even doubted his own motivations. All he had left was the thought of Crowley, whom he loved, and who loved him.

Said aloud in the haughty coldness of Heaven, it sounded ridiculous even to him.

"Oh Aziraphale." Michael said, the very picture of sadness and pity. "We all wish that could be true. But you know it can’t be. Demons can’t love. To love is to share the Light of the Lord, and they lost that a long time ago. It does you credit that you try to see the Light in the Darkness, it really does, but it’s not there. He’s lying to you."

He didn’t want to believe it. But it lined up with everything Heaven had told him, through all his time on Earth duty, and all the time before, all the way back to the War itself. Thousands of years of indoctrination battled against one heart. It had never been a fair fight.

Aziraphale looked into Michael's eyes and saw only concerned sincerity. He felt himself break.

* * *

Gabriel had, of course, lost the staring contest. Crowley was now leaning against a wall in a way that he hoped looked casual. He tapped his wristwatch. "Clock's ticking".

In truth, he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, and not just because of the danger: he wanted to get away from the feel of the place. It was worn in like a path across grass, so frequently travelled it would never go away. It whispered straight to your soul of the inherent Rightness of Heaven, the superiority, the inevitability of eventual triumph. It promised love and belonging - but with an undercurrent of menace and fear. This love was conditional, it said. It could be revoked, and you'd be nothing without it.

Crowley had been damned for far too long for it to have much of an effect on him, but the fact that it was noticeable was disconcerting. He wondered how anyone could stay sane up here. Maybe they didn’t. None of this lot seemed all that well-adjusted and there was no reason to suspect anyone else was.

Gabriel finished whatever discussions he was having with Sandalphon and another angel that Crowley recognised as Uriel. The discussions had taken a while, and occasionally looked quite intense, but they had done something to keep their voices shielded from the intruder, and Crowley couldn’t make out a word. Uriel headed off somewhere. Gabriel headed back over to Crowley, glowering sullenly.

"Fine, he can go with you. But. Only if he wants to. I’m sure even you can see that’s reasonable."

Crowley tensed. There was no way Aziraphale wouldn’t want to come back to Earth. Not if he was thinking straight.

"What have you done to him?"

Gabriel just kept glaring.

Aziraphale appeared soon afterwards, flanked by Uriel and Michael. He was wearing simple white robes, which Crowley assumed were standard issue for new corporations, being similar to those Hell had (though in a rather different colour scheme). He looked at Crowley suspiciously.

* * *

Aziraphale stood uncomfortably in the entrance area, in his unfamiliar new body, staring at the demon amongst the angels.

There he was, right in front of him. The Deceiver, the Trickster, the Serpent of Eden, who had played him for a fool, talked him into betraying Heaven and nearly caused him to Fall. Who had the audacity to saunter into Heaven itself and laugh in the faces of Archangels.

Who was staring at Aziraphale - soft, cowardly Aziraphale, a pathetic excuse for an angel and a threat to no-one - and looking absolutely terrified.

A flicker of something emerged, down but not quite out. It put a question to him before vanishing again: That doesn’t make sense. Does it?

Aziraphale pushed it down as hard as he could. He had to be strong. He couldn’t afford to doubt. Heaven needed him.

* * *

Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s cold expression and fought to keep the mix of rage and fear down. They had definitely done something to him. He looked pale and joyless and timid. And he had never, ever looked at Crowley like that. Not even during That Fight They Did Not Talk About.

"Aziraphale?" he said, tentatively. "Are you alright? Why didn’t you come back? Did they not let you leave?"

More questions, thought Aziraphale. Always questions. Still trying to get him to doubt Heaven even now. Fiend. He glared.

"I don't know what you're playing at but it won't work."

"I’m not playing at anything." the demon said, arms wide and open. "I just want you to come home. To Earth. It’s where you want to be, isn’t it?"

"Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?"

"I love you, you idiot. Bloody moved in with you. I let you put tartan blankets in my car. Come home. Please."

"You don’t." Aziraphale sounded distraught. "You’re lying. You can’t. Demons can't."

Crowley bit his tongue. He hadn't risked everything to come up here just to get riled up and storm off again. He only had one shot this time.

"Heaven told you that? How would they know?"

"Stop asking questions!"

Michael put a hand on Aziraphale’s arm, as if to comfort him. As if angels did that sort of thing. "I think you’d better go." they said to Crowley. "Before you cause any more damage."

"It’s you who’s done the damage. What did you say? What did you do?" Now it was Crowley who sounded frantic. He was losing it. He was losing him. They had poisoned his angel’s mind. He wanted to lash out, make them all pay, but if he did Aziraphale would hate him forever. He fought to regain control, shut it all down.

He took a deep, calming breath and slid his glasses off, got as close as he dared and looked Aziraphale in the eyes with a pleading expression.

"Aziraphale, I've never made you do anything. You know that. Pestered you, maybe, but never made you. I’m not lying to you. I would never do anything to hurt you. I think this place is really, really bad for you. But I can't make you leave. If you want to stay here, you can."

Aziraphale avoided his eyes and said nothing.

"I’ll miss you."

Aziraphale trembled slightly and looked at the ground. His arms stayed by his side, hands balled. Everyone watched him. For several agonising seconds he said nothing. Then, very quietly, he spoke.

"Go away."

Crowley didn’t think anything Hell had ever done could compare. It took all of his willpower just to stay on his feet. A couple of aeons seemed to pass before he could bring himself to speak again, and when he could, he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

"Okay. Well. I'd best be off then. If you, uh. If you ever change your mind, you know how to find me."

He looked at Aziraphale one last time. Aziraphale kept looking at the floor.

He put his glasses back on, shakily.

"Bye then. Bye."

Aziraphale watched the demon turn and walk off. His head was bowed and the swagger was gone - he looked defeated. Aziraphale gazed after him, half willing him to stop or even just look back. He wondered why sending away a hated enemy hurt so much.

"Well done Aziraphale." Gabriel said cheerfully, making him jump. "I thought he nearly had you for a minute, but you’re strong."

"It’s only a demon."

"And you’re an angel. Exactly as it should be." Gabriel put a hand on his shoulder and gently turned him away from the exit. "Could you test out the new body elsewhere for a bit? The senior staff and I need to discuss this and check things out. Demons shouldn’t be able to just walk in."

Aziraphale nodded numbly. He wandered off out of the entrance area, back into not-quite-Heaven.


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley made his way out of the building, one step at a time because it was all he could manage. He hadn't looked back, not even so much as a glance - he didn't think he could face it.

Heaven had won the only battle Crowley cared about. They’d got back into Aziraphale’s head, turned him against Crowley, against himself. They’d failed to kill him so they’d decided to fix him instead. He’d never get out now, stuck in there with them. They’d never allow him to come back to Earth, too much risk of him seeing or hearing something that made him start to question again. Something that might jeopardise their plan to turn him into a good, obedient little angel.

Bastards. At least when Hell hurt you they were up-front about it. They didn't tear your mind to bits and pretend it was for your own good.

Crowley had no problem with being away from Hell, he'd never really fitted in. As far as he was aware, he was the only member of either side to have comprehensively rejected both, and he was fine with that. But Aziraphale had missed being on Heaven’s side, despite everything, and he had shown that every day without even realising. It wasn't in the angel's nature to hide how he felt. And he tended to assume the best of people. He must have been easy prey for his former bosses.

He slouched against a wall outside the building, staring blankly into space. Going back to the car meant admitting it was over, that he’d lost his best friend. And only friend, really. Oh, there were a few humans he’d happily get drunk with, but you couldn’t properly bond with someone who’d only be around a few more decades. Since he’d turned his back on Hell, Aziraphale had been the only other immortal being who would even give him the time of day.

He had never before faced the prospect of eternity alone. Probably nobody but the Almighty ever had.

* * *

Once Aziraphale had left, Gabriel dropped his smile.

"That was closer than I’d have liked. Damned snake nearly had him persuaded."

The others mumbled in agreement. Crowley’s visit had left them all a little shaken, though being angels they were all trying not to show it.

"Was he telling the truth?" Michael asked, breaking the silence. "About the love?"

"Who cares?" Gabriel replied. "He’s the Enemy."

Sandalphon smirked. "Could be a useful weakness, if true."

"I doubt it’s common even if it is true." Michael speculated. "The environment Downstairs is not exactly conducive to it. That one rarely went back, I gather - he spent a considerable amount of time on Earth, far more than any other demon has. I suppose it’s possible he picked up some odd habits."

The enforcer looked at them, bemused. "Odd habits?"

Michael nodded. "Aziraphale certainly did. It’s going to take a long time to fix."

"Falling in love with the enemy is a bit beyond an odd habit." Gabriel said, frowning.

"Indeed." Michael frowned back. "Rather inconvenient all round. We really should have picked up on this sooner, got it dealt with early. We might have been able to stay on schedule."

There was another pause while the angels thought about the recently-averted rematch. They never really had looked into why Aziraphale had intervened. He had been fraternising with the enemy and that was damning enough. Why hadn’t seemed overly important compared to the fact that he had at all.

"You think Aziraphale tried to thwart Armageddon to protect his…" - Gabriel fumbled for a suitable word for such an incomprehensible concept - "...association, with this demon?"

"I’m sure it was a factor." Michael said confidently. "Probably the largest one."

"And the demon helped for the same reason?" He looked incredulous.

"Perhaps." Michael shrugged. "Though it’s hard to say what motivates a demon."

"Demons in love." Uriel mocked. "Ridiculous."

"As if they deserve it." Sandalphon added.

Gabriel sighed. "Well, what’s done is done. Even more reason to keep him away from Earth, anyway. If this demon really does have some kind of... attachment, he’d probably track him down wherever he’s posted, and making sure he’s never alone might not be good enough."

"He has done far more than his share of time on Earth as it is." Uriel reflected. "A dangerous amount. It’s about time he returned home permanently."

"Absolutely." Gabriel said. "And that is still the preferred option. But we need to find out how he survived the Hellfire first. His return confirmed it, he is definitely still an angel, so that should not have been possible. We can’t send him back to Head Office until we know how he did it. He found a way for an angel to survive Hellfire, and we need to know what it is."

Sandalphon chimed in smugly. "We certainly do. With that threat neutralised the war’s as good as won."

"Indeed it is." Gabriel agreed. "And it’s about time."

* * *

Crowley gazed at the pavement, what little thought he could muster drifting between how things had got to this point and what to do now, where to go for a start. He had long since given up his Mayfair flat, which had never been home anyway, and he wasn't sure he could face going to the bookshop right now. He certainly wasn't going back to the cottage.

Both of them were full of Aziraphale, of all the little things he picked up down the years and never let go. Full of all the evidence of this silly little pretend-human life they’d built together lately, just to see what it was like, now they had nothing much to do and all the time in the world to do it in. Crowley had found, much to his surprise, that he rather liked it. He didn’t know what he was going to do with himself now it was gone.

Aziraphale had told him demons couldn’t love. Had he always believed that, deep down, throughout it all, or was it new? Had Heaven got him to swallow a lie that big so easily, or had he gone to Hell itself on behalf of someone he honestly thought incapable of returning his affections?

It wasn’t even as if Crowley was unique in this respect, he thought wearily. There had always been demons here and there who'd formed alliances, in pairs or small groups, and since his own little epiphany Crowley had suspected it wasn't always just for mutual protection. Heaven wouldn’t know about them, of course, and it had never occurred to him that Aziraphale might find it remarkable. Perhaps even the demons themselves didn’t know what it was, after being told for so long that they were the Fallen and couldn't have anything nice. That stuff got into your head and stayed there.

Crowley sighed. Both sides were so stupid. Heaven thought of demons as heartless monsters trying to drag everyone down, and Hell thought of angels as heartless automatons blindly serving irreproachable authority. They seemed to agree on 'heartless'. Aziraphale certainly hadn’t been heartless though, and he hadn’t seemed as though he thought Crowley was.

No, it had to be new. It really wasn’t implausible that they could make him believe something like that so quickly – Heaven had been working on him for a long time, and they were good at it. Crowley thought it likely that if they hadn't swapped places for their trials, Aziraphale would have done as he was told and stepped willingly into the flames - and would have died thinking he deserved it. Heaven had certainly been sure he would. If they could make him believe that they could make him believe anything.

Aziraphale hoarded for a reason, Crowley thought with a shudder. Demons didn't get to have anything nice, and had to guard anything they did have against the predations of other demons, but angels didn't get to have anything of their own at all, not even themselves.

He forced himself back to reality - it wasn’t as if it could make any difference now. Perhaps he should go to the bookshop after all. Maybe if he miracled himself straight from the car into bed he wouldn't have to think about where he was too much. He could see how long he could sleep for. Was it possible to sleep forever?

* * *

"What about the demon’s threat?" Uriel asked. "Was he bluffing, or do we really need to keep him safe and placated until we find the messages or the protection against Hellfire?"

"I say we risk it." Sandalphon said. "They’re mortals, they have no chance against us."

"I think it would be unwise to fight a war on two fronts, even if one of them is mortal." Michael said firmly. "We don’t know how these messages would propagate or what preparations might have been made by the time we find out about them. If they exist, it would be preferable for them to go unsent. We have enough to deal with already."

"We could strike first. Shouldn’t take long." Sandalphon sounded rather enticed by the prospect. It had been a while since the last big smiting.

Michael shook their head again. "Not without the Almighty’s approval. The Great Plan requires Humanity to start fighting first." Sandalphon looked disappointed but didn’t argue.

Gabriel bristled. "So not only do we have to leave him alone, we have to make sure Hell does too? We are *not* doing that."

"I don’t think that will be necessary" Michael said. "They’re more afraid of him than he is of them."

"They are?" Gabriel asked, confused.

"A demon with an immunity to Holy Water and a ready supply could probably conquer Hell single-handedly if he so desired." Michael explained, to general surprise and unease. "Luckily for them, his desires don’t seem to extend beyond Earth."

Gabriel nodded thoughfully.

"And apparently, Aziraphale." Michael added dryly. "Hell has no wish to rock the boat."

"That’s quite a problem for them." Gabriel remarked, in the tone of one who has just seen a very large problem land on someone else’s desk and is feeling both smug and relieved about it.

"Indeed." Michael said. "Not to mention, they’re still dealing with the fallout, and that’s taking most of their time at the moment. He gave them quite a show. We should be thankful our own trial had no audience. Aziraphale’s little display of defiance at muster has caused quite enough trouble as it is."

"Is that under control now?"

"More or less. There are one or two others who may need further corrective action, but it’s not spreading at this point."

"Thank you Michael, that is good to know. We can probably leave those problems for later, then. Now, where were we? How did he get up here?"

Uriel interrupted. "Do we not have the same problem in reverse? Couldn’t Aziraphale use the demon to bring Hellfire here? He did try to attack us at the trial. There might be more where that came from."

"I think Aziraphale is suitably contained for the moment." Gabriel said. "And his demon won’t be coming back."

* * *

Angels, being inherently Lawful*, tend to be very bad at spotting deliberate disobedience amongst their own – it’s nearly inconceivable to them. The angels who disobeyed Fell, so all of the remaining angels are assumed to be obedient. This is largely why the Arrangement went undiscovered for a thousand years despite Heaven’s extensive surveillance and Aziraphale’s near-total lack of aptitude for subterfuge.

*It would be a dangerous mistake to confuse this with Good.

It is very likely also why it didn’t occur to any of the senior angels that Aziraphale might disobey Gabriel’s order to leave and instead hang around out of sight, eavesdropping on their conversation. His dejected departure had been so slow that the overconfident leaders had begun talking when he was still in earshot, and he had been unable to resist the temptation.

Aziraphale may be very bad at being sneaky, but he is very good at working things out, when he puts his mind to it. Currently he is putting pieces together and spotting where they don’t match up. And getting really quite angry.

They had manipulated him, that was now painfully clear. Tricked him into hurting himself and hurting Crowley. They really had wanted him dead and he'd been a fool to let himself think otherwise. They didn't know or care what a demon's heart could hold. They still wanted their war. And they had no intention of letting him go home.

Anger has a bad reputation, understandably so. Many people’s greatest regrets are things they said or did in anger. But it’s also useful. It fuels action, quells fear, cuts through polite words to the substance underneath to show you what it’s made of. Counters the urge to do as you’re told. Sometimes it takes anger to do what needs to be done.

* * *

Aziraphale stormed past the gaggle of angels, leaving them scrambling to catch up. He made it to the exit before they did. Nobody in the way this time.

"Aziraphale!" Gabriel shouted. "Where are you going?"

Aziraphale spun on his heel in front of the lifts and glared at him. "Away. I heard you. Was anything any of you said to me true? We're supposed to have standards."

"We are only trying to help you."

"You’re trying to help yourselves."

A lift opened. Aziraphale strode towards it, followed by Gabriel and Sandalphon. Michael and Uriel hung back and watched in astonishment.

Gabriel shouted: "I forbid you to leave!". A passing angel glanced over in alarm, then looked away again, pretending they hadn’t seen anything. They sped up a little in their hurry to get away from whatever it was they hadn't seen.

Aziraphale, emboldened by rage, dug out his inner Crowley and went for a bluff.

"How are you intending to stop me? You're vulnerable to Hellfire, I'm not. Did you forget my demonstration at the trial? Would you like another?"

He took a very deep breath and had a go at an evil grin. Sandalphon shot backwards and Michael’s eyes widened. Uriel actually gasped. Gabriel stood his ground protectively in front of the others, violet wings out and shielding the rest of the group, looking scared but determined. A Principality should be no match for an Archangel, but they all knew this was no ordinary Principality. One lick of Hellfire and it would all be over.

Aziraphale regarded the tableau, then let the breath go and addressed Gabriel again.

"Protecting your people, Gabriel? That's the only decent thing you've done since I got here. Don't follow me." Aziraphale turned around and headed into the lift.

"Aziraphale, wait." Gabriel tried a conciliatory tone, far too late. "Don't decide while you're angry. Think it over first."

"And give you another chance to lie to me?" Aziraphale said sharply. He stabbed at a button.

"You’re being rash. If you leave now, that’s it. You will not be allowed back. You can never come home."

Aziraphale turned to face him, face marred with outright contempt. "This isn't home."

The lift doors closed.

* * *

For all the appeal sleeping forever had, Crowley didn’t think he could bring himself to do it. He had to come up with something else, somehow. Giving up wasn’t usually his thing. And Aziraphale - not that pale, subdued shadow, but the real Aziraphale, the one who'd drawn a sword on Satan himself, the beautiful, fearless, obstinate bastard - would tell him not to, no matter how hopeless it looked. He couldn’t just leave him in there.

Maybe there was mileage in that human prayer thing. Maybe he could contrive something that would require Heaven to send him back to Earth, somehow. If he made it back to Earth there was a chance. There must be options. Even the most ridiculous ideas are worth looking at when they’re the only ones you’ve got.

He headed back to the car, trying to stir something useful out of the miserable mush his brain had turned into. Instead of getting in straight away, he stood and just looked at it for a bit, his car, that had been utterly lost and unexpectedly restored, hoping for inspiration.

A hand landed on his shoulder and nearly made him jump out of his corporation. He spun around and stared.

"Can we go home now?"

It was Aziraphale, barefoot on the London street and dressed like an escaped cultist, but unmistakeably, indignantly himself. Crowley hugged him so desperately he nearly scooped him off his feet. Aziraphale hugged him back. They clung to each other for several minutes, giggling in sheer relief.

"How long have you been following me, you bastard?" Crowley managed.

Aziraphale grinned. "I just got out, came straight to your car. What do you take me for?"

Crowley was still holding Aziraphale by the shoulders. He gazed at him as if afraid the angel might disappear if he so much as blinked.

"I thought I’d lost you." he said, with feeling. "What changed your mind?"

"They spilled the beans when they thought I wasn’t listening. It was rather lucky, really."

"I’ll say. You alright?"

"I’m fine." Aziraphale said, not exactly truthfully. Nowhere close to truthfully, really. Then his face dropped into a worried glare.

"What on Earth possessed you to walk straight into Heaven? You could have been destroyed!"

"You didn’t come back, what else was I supposed to do?"

"It’s not safe for you there!"

"It’s not safe for you either!" Crowley protested. "Would you have made it out if I hadn’t?"

Aziraphale paused to think, and he didn’t like the conclusion. "I don't know."

"Exactly." Crowley said, reading the face not the words. "It was worth the risk."

"I’m not sure I believe you." Aziraphale said, in a worried voice. "Don’t do it again."

Crowley sighed. "I tell you what, you don’t get stuck in Heaven again and I won’t go up there and get you. Deal?"

Aziraphale sighed too, and relented. "Alright. ‘Deal’. Let’s get away from here."

Crowley grinned and opened the door for him, and Aziraphale got into the car. He settled into the seat, then found a tartan blanket and pulled it round himself over the flimsy robes, sinking with relief into the familiar smells of his favourite cologne and the Bentley’s seat leather. Crowley got in beside him and drove off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is the longest one I've ever written by miles, and Aziraphale finally telling Gabriel where to stick it has kept me going all the way through.
> 
> One chapter to go and there's some much-deserved fluff in it :)


	5. Chapter 5

Crowley drove them to the bookshop first – it was always the first place Aziraphale wanted to go when he’d had a hard time. They could head back to the cottage later. Crowley curled up on the sofa and watched him potter about, slowly letting his own tension fade. At the moment he felt like he didn’t dare let the angel out of his sight again, and that couldn’t be allowed to last – being watched all the time was the last thing Aziraphale needed. He’d had enough of that from Heaven.

After a while Aziraphale stopped fussing over the books and sat down in his favourite chair. He opened a bottle of wine and shared it out, and they both sat in comfortable silence for a bit, letting the quiet familiarity of the shop calm them down.

"I owe you another apology." Aziraphale finally said. "I was dreadful to you."

"Can’t say I’ll cherish the memory" Crowley replied, reaching for the bottle again. "But you weren’t exactly yourself. Their fault, not yours. I hope you’ve got the message this time though."

"Loud and clear." Aziraphale replied, smiling weakly.

Crowley nodded in acknowledgement and they settled into silence again. Aziraphale stared into his wine, breathing in the sharp fruity smell and letting the taste sit on his tongue, slowly feeling more grounded. Good old wine. It was what it said it was and it did what it was supposed to do. No tricks, no ruses. No wine in Heaven.

"What did actually happen to send me back there?" he piped up, eventually. "Gabriel said something about a car accident."

Crowley didn’t really want to think about it, but he tried to sound casual. "Yeah, you got hit on the way back from town. On that long straight bit."

"Ah. I should have realised that could happen." Cars didn't always stay on the road just because they were supposed to, after all. "Was anyone else hurt?"

"No, the reckless prick’s fine. Won’t even know about it. I made him think he hit a deer or something."

"Much obliged. I won’t let it happen again."

"You’d better not."

Aziraphale sighed. "It had been such a nice day, too." His thoughts wandered back to it. The bright late-summer day, the farmers' market. Tarrying in the park on the way into town to watch a few overs of dreadful but enthusiastic village cricket. Tea and cake with human friends, and a new addition to his collectio- oh.

"Oh no, I lost the book!" he said, stricken. "I’d only just got it. I’ll have to ask for another copy now, however will I explain?"

"You don’t really think I’d forget one of your books?" Crowley said affectionately. "It’s in your study. Wasn’t sure how to fix it though. Thought I should leave that to you."

Aziraphale’s expression was one of pure adoration. Crowley looked a little embarrassed.

"You lose your body and you worry about a book. Priorities, angel." He took a sip of wine. "What crap did they tell you about me anyway?"

Aziraphale looked back into his wine again, rather uncomfortably. He squeezed the glass gently to reassure himself that it was real.

"They told me you were trying to make me Fall."

Said aloud in the cosy comfort of the bookshop, it sounded ridiculous.

"And you believed them?" Crowley said, hurt. "I wouldn’t inflict that on them let alone you."

Of course he wouldn't. It was completely obvious. Wasn't it? Aziraphale felt guilty again.

"I know. Really I do." He paused. "Well, here I do. Up there, it was hard to think straight."

"They got in your head, didn’t they? Made true things seem stupid and stupid things seem true?"

"Yes. Exactly."

"Whoever came up with that plan is a nasty piece of work. And that’s coming from a demon." Crowley refilled his glass again. "Right, what else?"

"Well, first they told me the trial was only a pretence to test my loyalty and I wouldn’t actually have been hurt." He burned with embarrassment just saying it. Crowley snorted derisively.

"Which I didn’t believe, obviously."

Crowley drank more wine and said nothing.

"Well, not at first anyway." he added, in a small voice. That got him a sympathetic look. He continued, more loudly. "Then they told me you hadn’t done your side of the Arrangement."

Crowley actually sounded amused at that. "Oh, I very much did. Can show you the reports if you like. I had to get quite creative with some of them." He broke into a tipsy grin. "Hey, remember that time I got a commendation for doing one of yours?"

Aziraphale burst out laughing. Oh yes. He’d been so scandalised at the time. Now it was hilarious. "I’d completely forgotten."

"I think I’ve still got it somewhere. Remind me to dig it out."

"We should frame it and put it on the wall."

"Maybe we should." Crowley said. He stopped laughing and looked at Aziraphale seriously for a moment. "Would it help?"

Hell sent its commendations on paper when the recipient was on Earth. It might catch fire if you got it wet, because Hell was nothing if not overdramatic, but paper was paper. Paper with words on, Aziraphale’s favourite kind. Words on the air could twist before they’d even faded, could be misheard or misremembered or forgotten or denied. Words on paper were real, enduring, reliable. Safe.

Aziraphale looked at his feet, then nodded gently. "It might."

* * *

They drove back to Sussex the following evening. Aziraphale hadn’t really wanted to leave the shop yet, but also hadn’t wanted to be away from the cottage, and Crowley had threatened to toss a coin for it. They could switch between the two any time Aziraphale liked, he’d said – all he had to do was ask.

When they arrived, Crowley went round informing the disappointed plants that normal service would now be resuming, while Aziraphale went to get his coat back. And, regrettably, to deal with the old body. Crowley didn’t want to see it again, which was entirely understandable. Aziraphale couldn’t remember the accident at all, having been dispatched back Upstairs more or less instantly, but Crowley could remember in hideous detail. Aziraphale wasn’t going to make him experience that memory again if he could help it.

He was going to miss it, the replacement he'd got from Adam. It had been so much like his old body that Aziraphale suspected it actually was the old one, plucked out of reality at the point of its destruction and brought forward to be returned. He liked to believe that as far as the provenance of his coat was concerned at least. This new body might look the same, but it was definitely not the same, and he was still a little uncomfortable in it, though it was improving with each tweak he made to get it more to his liking. Hopefully he would soon get used to it.

Once he’d finished, he smoothed down his waistcoat, letting the feel of the fabric calm his nerves, then quietly slipped off to his study. The book was there on the desk, a bit muddy and battered, but very much present. He looked at it from the doorway, feeling guilty again. When was he going to stop doubting?

Crowley’s arms wrapped around his waist from behind and he jumped slightly, then relaxed into them. "Weren’t sure it would be here?"

"Mm. Sorry."

"Not your fault." Crowley gave him a reassuring squeeze. "That would be a weird lie, though. They really got to you, didn’t they?"

"It’s what they do." Aziraphale said, a little bitterly. "I feel like an idiot. It took them no time at all to make me doubt everything."

"Well, they weren’t starting from scratch. Takes a long time to get that stuff out of your head. Maybe forever."

Aziraphale frowned. "Forever?"

Crowley’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "You ever wonder why Hell went along with the Great Plan even though rebelling against God’s plans was kind of how we all ended up there in the first place? ‘Cause I have."

Aziraphale turned in his arms with eyes twinkling. "You can't resist dangerous questions, can you?"

"Wouldn't be me if I could."

Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him, revelling in the physicality of it, the sensations familiar even in the unfamiliar body. He’d come so close to never getting to do this again. Crowley made a soft little noise that went straight to Aziraphale’s heart and made him feel like it was full of little pink fizzy bubbles. He felt Crowley’s arms tighten around his waist, and the doubts fled, for now at least. He felt completely safe, and completely wanted. The rest of Creation, with its cars and its books and its angels and demons and all the tricks and lies and conflicting loyalties, went away for a bit.

After a few moments, or a few millennia, who cares which, he came back down. So that still worked, then. He sighed contentedly. They stood there a while in each other’s arms, heads together, just enjoying being close.

"So you’ve not been seducing me away from Heaven to further the cause of Hell, then?" he said, telling himself he was joking. "You’d be quite good at it."

"Nope, this is purely personal." Crowley replied, lightly. "Anyway, you seduced me."

"I did not!"

"You did. Waving that lack of sword at me and flashing those eyes about. I didn’t stand a chance."

"Eyes. You can talk."

"You like my eyes then?"

"I love your eyes. Always have. Such a lovely colour. Like honey."

"You would think of food." Crowley grinned at Aziraphale’s mildly indignant expression. "Yours are like the sky. Sometimes blue, sometimes grey, always worth looking at."

"That’s soppy." Aziraphale teased. "You’re a soppy demon."

"Slander. That’s slander that is."

Aziraphale kissed him again.

When they finally separated, Crowley had completely lost track of time. He found himself with his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, being hugged very firmly.

"You’re touchy-feely today." he said. "Not that I’m complaining."

"Been rather insubstantial lately. Want to feel incarnate for a bit."

Crowley took note of where Aziraphale’s hands had ended up and reached a pleasing if unexpected conclusion. "You mean, carnally incarnate?"

"Mm-hm." Aziraphale hummed suggestively.

"Heh." Crowley said, amused. "Heaven won’t like that."

"Good."

The determination in Aziraphale’s voice made Crowley feel the most optimistic he’d felt in weeks.

"Come on." Aziraphale said, heading out of the room. "I’ve got a brand new body and I want it thoroughly sullied." Crowley laughed and let himself be tugged along. "Alright. I’ll do my very best."

* * *

Aziraphale did actually have a nap afterwards - he felt he'd earned it lately, and sleeping with company didn't feel like quite such a waste of time as sleeping alone did. He didn't seem to dream, so he'd never really seen the point in sleep, but there was definitely something lovely about drifting off into helpless insensibility in the arms of someone you trusted, and waking up again still there. Then there was that blissful half-in-half-out state, where the world was just you and them and a bubble of soft warm blankets, and nothing else seemed to matter. Aziraphale could get used to that all right.

He could never sleep for as long as Crowley did though. He was watching him now, doing the slow regular breathing that seemed to be part of the package, wearing that look of peaceful contentment that he never wore when he was awake. Aziraphale kept meaning to ask if he dreamed, and if so, whether there was a knack to it. If he was now, it must be a nice dream.

It had never occurred to him before what it meant that Crowley was willing to sleep in his presence, the trust that implied. He’d been doing it for hundreds of years, usually on Aziraphale’s sofa after an agreeable evening. It was trusting enough for humans, and they had to sleep so much that they barely seemed to have a choice in the matter. But for a demon, with no need to sleep, to choose to do so with an angel of all people, well, that was surely special. If this actually was some kind of trick, he was clearly committed to it.

Crowley was wearing his hair slightly longer at the moment. The soft red curls framed his face and caught the early morning light like a fiery halo (a comparison Aziraphale would most certainly never voice aloud, because he had at least some common sense, but he couldn't help but think it). Aziraphale loved to run his fingers through it.

He gently pushed a lock of hair out of Crowley’s face and he gave a rather un-demonic sigh. Deceiver indeed. Aziraphale snuggled up and closed his eyes for a thoroughly indulgent second nap.

* * *

Aziraphale woke up alone, which caused him some alarm at first – that had never happened before. That said, he’d never woken up after Crowley before. He sat up in bed and looked around nervously, the doubts jabbing at him again. "Crowley?" he called.

There was some swearing from the direction of the kitchen, then a "Just a minute!". A few minutes later, the demon appeared in the doorway bearing a tray with two mugs and a plate piled high with what were unmistakeably crêpes.

"Sorry, thought you weren’t quite awake yet." he mumbled. "Never seen you sleep that much before, you must have actually needed it or something."

"Well you did rather tire me out", Aziraphale said smugly, relaxing again. He allowed himself a moment of vindictive pleasure at the thought of Heaven going through *those* records. Serves them right for snooping. And for making him doubt Crowley. He couldn’t quite believe how badly they’d shaken his trust in so little time. Some uncomfortable paperwork was the least they deserved.

Crowley put the tray down in Aziraphale’s lap and slipped back into bed, grabbing his coffee as he did so. The angel already had a fork in his mouth and his eyes closed, and was wearing an enraptured expression. Crowley smiled to himself. Mission accomplished.

"They’re not exactly Parisian standard, but hopefully good enough."

Aziraphale nodded happily. Crowley said that every time he made them, even though they were always excellent, and done without miracles as well. It helped that Crowley (a) had in fact learned how to make them in Paris, for reasons he would never admit to, and (b) had never tried to cut Aziraphale’s head off, which was worth a few extra points versus the Parisians in Aziraphale’s book.

"You’ve never brought me breakfast in bed before. What’s this in aid of?"

Crowley blew on his coffee, for the human ritual of it rather than any actual need to cool it down, and took a sip. "You’ve had a rough time lately. Don’t get used to it."

"Fair enough. Thank you dear, they’re scrummy."

He tucked in enthusiastically. Crowley sat back, eyes closed, savouring the coffee and the bedsheets and the angel beside him, already covered in sugar and practically radiating happiness. Simple, Earthly comforts. As far removed from both Heaven and Hell as possible. Just as he liked it. And just what they both needed right now.

Aziraphale paused in his demolition of the pile to take a sip of cocoa, then turned to Crowley.

"It’s not just you, is it?"

Crowley opened his eyes again. "Hm?"

"Are there other demons, you know, getting attached?"

"Attached?" Crowley scoffed. "A creature of the Pit? Just used to having you around, aren’t I?"

"I think that game is over, dear." Aziraphale said. "You told me you love me in front of Heaven's top brass."

Crowley winced. "Oh yes, I did do that didn't I? Think that's going to get about?"

"I think they'll want to keep it quiet. We seem to have caused a bit of a kerfuffle already, they won't want the rank and file wondering if demons have feelings as well."

"Of course they won’t. And to answer your question, yes, there are. Not many, but there are."

"Thought so, I doubt you're special." He realised what he'd said. "I-I-mean, obviously you are, very special, but um, in the general sense…"

Crowley grinned and briefly considered letting him dig for a bit.

"Well, obviously I'm one of a kind." he said, with a flourish. "But yeah, not special in the general sense. And I’m guessing there are other angels like you? Getting ‘attached’?"

"Oh I’m sure. Not that I know of any, but they would have to hide it. Heaven wouldn’t approve of that sort of thing. We’re only supposed to love in the, well, general sense."

"That sounds like Heaven, all right." Crowley said, stealing a strawberry from the plate. "Several country miles away from the point."

"Perhaps. Comes back to getting things out of your head, I suppose." He paused. "I do wonder whether it’s them or the place. Something’s gone wrong up there. But Gabriel did try to protect the others, when it came down to it. He can’t be all bad."

"You don’t have to be all bad to do plenty of damage. You’ve been around humans long enough to know that. Some of the worst stuff gets done by people who think they’re the good guys."

Aziraphale put his fork down and sighed. "You know, I used to think they meant well, and if I only measured up they wouldn’t have to act like that."

Crowley laid a gentle hand on his arm. "There's proverbs about that, angel. Roads to Hell, paving materials thereof. Meaning well’s not enough. You don't have to let people hurt you just because they don't mean to hurt you." He let go and sipped his coffee. "And for the record, I don’t believe for an instant that they didn’t mean to hurt you. I was at your trial. I know malice when I see it."

"You’re probably right." Aziraphale said sadly. He dropped the subject and concentrated on his breakfast for a bit.

"Oh, by the way" he said, eventually, "You might be amused to know that Hell are apparently terrified of you." 

Crowley cackled. "Thank you angel, we haven’t even got up yet and you’ve already made my day. Why are they terrified of me?"

"Michael seemed to think your immunity to Holy Water meant you could take over."

"As if I’d want that job. Shows how well they know me."

"Quite." Aziraphale said with a smile. "What did you do to persuade them to let me go, anyway? They said something about messages. They seemed to be considering an attack on some humans over it."

Crowley explained his plan. Aziraphale looked shocked.

"You used the whole of Humanity as a weapon against Heaven?" (Just for me? Gosh.) "What if they had retaliated?"

"Didn't have anything else to work with, did I?" Crowley said defensively. Then he added, slightly worried: "You think they might?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "They said they’d need Her approval. I don’t think She’s likely to give it, not for that reason, anyway."

"You're making me feel guilty now. I'm a demon, I don't do guilty."

Aziraphale looked at him pointedly. "Now who's spouting party lines?"

Crowley started to retort, then stopped. His face took on a distant expression. Aziraphale took his hand and squeezed it. "Forever?"

Crowley snapped out of it and squeezed back. "I guess we've got forever. One way to find out."

He let go and gestured at the tray. "Finish your cocoa, it's getting cold. And I want to go to that new garden centre. Little buggers are getting cocky, they need some more competition."

(I’m the Serpent of Eden, he thought to himself, formerly Hell’s greatest tempter. I’ve spent six thousand years causing trouble. I’ve brought down kings and stoked revolutions. I’ve renounced Heaven and Hell both. With style. I’ve made a serious contribution to the reputation of London’s transport and telecoms networks. And I’m actually looking forward to going to a bloody garden centre.)

"Oh, is that the one with the little café?" Aziraphale replied. "Will there be cake?"

(And you know what? Why not? I’m free now. I can do what I like. With whoever I like. Why shouldn’t it involve cake and begonias?)

Crowley looked at the recently-cleared plate and the angel's hopeful expression, and found himself laughing. "For you, angel, there can always be cake."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me on my first ever multi-chapter fic, I hope you enjoyed it! Comments and constructive criticism welcome and appreciated, either here or on [Tumblr](https://nephiliminality.tumblr.com/) :)


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